


simma hem.

by teethrotter



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Gay Male Character, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Historical References, Insect Pinning, Language of Flowers, Murder, Mutilation, Ocean, Suicide, Taxidermy, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethrotter/pseuds/teethrotter
Summary: Midou visits an unlikely friend, one circumstance far more vile than the last.
Relationships: Shimura Suguru & Midou Shingo
Kudos: 2





	simma hem.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empathy_junkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empathy_junkie/gifts).



> to give at least a bit of au context because the grand majority of it is just something my brain made up: lev wanted a fic focusing on midou. i was reading hamlet at the time and ophelia's character / circumstances were quite intriguing to me. the english renaissance coincided partially with the azuchi-momoyama period in japan. thus, this amalgam was born !
> 
> since this was inspired by many different forms of material, midou and shimura are likely to be vaguely ooc for the sake of cohesiveness 
> 
> as with any of my works featuring midou, i write her as a trans woman, hence the use of she / her pronouns and 'ayame'. past this point it is not mentioned explicitly again :)

Obedient, chaste, complicit, passive, aimless, lily-livered girl. A girl with only her enticingly soft skin and natural beauty to separate her from the rest. Not to say that those traits permitted her some degree of individuality, of liberation: just the opposite. She was a pawn. A doll, a pretty thing to use and promptly discard once she had been exhausted of any unique resources. As a mercy issued by her nature, she was blissfully unaware. Until the truth grew too influential and too ugly to be ignored any longer.

Immediately, her view of the world crumbled. All she was, all that she had ever been, was false. She was a prop. An object to be utilized in a patriarchal power struggle, only very recently resolved. Who was she, really? Which personality facets were real? None of them. Her soul was empty, filled artificially by men who thought her subhuman. She was an object without substance. A broken tool. Nothing.

Surely, that was what had been generally accepted. Midou simply could not remember. All she could recall was that her biological father had been a merchant residing in the Kinai region and had resisted the Ashikaga shogun’s attempt to overtake it.

One series of events led to another string of them. The level of social status she had previously enjoyed as the daughter of a successful merchant was amplified under the distinction of ‘daughter of a samurai’, but she was quick to shift her behavior accordingly. She was relocated to a castle town and resided there permanently with her novel family.

Years ebbed away without incident. Now, she was in her early twenties, and Japan was, for the most part, reunified. This afforded her the opportunity to roam as she pleased in a rotation of approximate monthly intervals.

On this particular day, she chose to abdicate the castle town. Earlier in the year, prior to the chill settling over much of Japan, Midou had discovered a sort of nook in the crags overlooking the sea. This nook turned out to be more akin to a ledge, the resulting area adequate for supporting what was likely thrice her body weight. The ocean lapped at the more battered structures below, making for quite the sight to behold on days when the weather was more inclement.

She maneuvered her legs tenderly into the rocks. The makeshift ledge was high enough above the water to ensure that both the slab and her clothing remained reasonably dry, that fact having encouraged her to bring a somewhat morbid collection.

Clutched securely to her chest, well away from any trajectory of sea spray, was a sealed box. It was broader than her own torso, containing a wooden block within an intricate and ornate capsule. Resting inside the irregular body of the block were numerous tips of specially crafted pins, each of them impaling the thorax of a corresponding insect. Alongside each pin’s entry point was a carefully scrawled label detailing the characters of the specimen’s name and the date on which it was captured, as well as an approximate indication of the area it had been discovered in or the region it was imported from. Ultimately, an orderly and almost impressive organization of what was already an abnormal hobby.

Insects hardly tended to endure the trials of rolling saltwater; Midou had not arrived seeking to add a fresh member to her assortment. Today, it was to serve observational purposes.

Abruptly, footsteps crunched in the grass at her side. Her neck craned on what was practically reflex, her features smoothing as she registered the appearance of her guest.

A man nonchalantly delivered himself into the crags. He slipped into place beside her, dressed unquestionably in cheap garb. Despite the blatant difference in class, he greeted Midou with a hasty bow of his head.

“I thought I might find you here today. You always seem to appear only when the weather is far from ideal,” the man declared lightly, his lips curling into a soft grin.

Midou couldn’t help but chuckle, pressing her fingers distractedly to her lips. “’Far from ideal’? Shimura, it’s perfectly clear. There’s only a bit of a breeze.”

The man, Shimura, clasped her right hand in both of his. “As if the chill on this ‘breeze’ isn’t biting. Regardless, it’s not often you’re here, and I can see that you’ve brought something along. Show me, Ayame.”

The employment of her first name from his lips was hardly unwelcome.

Shimura was a poor artisan living well outside the boundaries of her native castle town. Their meeting could not have occurred under typical circumstances – it was Midou’s fondness for the more obscure countryside that had facilitated it all. If she had not selected to complete the trek some years back and had never happened upon Shimura as he worked over the coast’s cliffs, they very well could have remained separate.

In accordance with his words, Midou reproduced her container after he had relinquished her hand. In a fashion befitting his profession, Shimura was unable to prevent himself from gently cooing over the intricacies of the case, his fingertips tracing the various spirals and markings.

“It’s beautiful. What do you use it for?”

“Look inside.”

Seemingly somewhat enthralled, Shimura propped the lid without hesitation. He silently scanned the array of colorful bodies within, refraining from touching any individual parts. His dark eyes widened.

“Ayame… They’re stunning. So well-preserved, complete… Truly phenomenal. The case is impressive on its own, but this… I’ve never seen a collection as thorough and intriguing. Certainly not from any other taxidermist.”

Despite herself, Midou could feel even the tips of her ears heat. She was thankful that Shimura’s undivided focus was placed elsewhere.

“Hush. I’m hardly a professional. This is only a hobby. I can assure you that there are others far more skilled and meticulous than myself.”

Shimura nearly giggled. “Admittedly, I’ve yet to meet many other taxidermists. However, for what it’s worth as an artisan, I have difficulty picturing another collection quite like this one.”

He returned the box to Midou’s hands, goading her to temporarily secure it at her side. When she refocused her attention on him, he was clutching a modest bundle of intermixed flora.

“I know this sort of thing displeases you. Under the assumption that I might find you here, I’ve come prepared for a few days now. Obviously, today’s when you actually showed. So, I made this for your own purposes. Do with it what you please.”

Before Midou could formulate an appropriate response, Shimura manually deposited the clump into her palms, her fingers automatically curling around them. He stood, a smile gracing his lips.

“I trust that you won’t be _too_ angry with me. I’ve hardly given you proper flowers, after all,” he attempted to clarify, only an ounce of sheepishness adorning his speech.

“You caught me at a bad time. I have to leave now, but I’m already anticipating our next meeting.”

Shimura stepped to the sturdier ground above the ledge, hastily departing inland. Midou made no effort to tail him or call out, instead glancing down to the plant matter he’d bestowed. Nettles of arborvitae interlaced with clusters of sweet alyssum, unintentionally woven together to create a sort of arrangement.

The language of flowers was not exclusive to the nobility: Shimura had more than likely known the sentiment these plants conveyed. Midou hurriedly collected her belongings, pinning the gift to the confines of her sleeve, and effectively fled the area.

A handful of months passed before she was able to return to the quiet countryside. She’d arrived prepared, just as Shimura had previously: a collection of yellow acacia, deep red carnation, cedar leaf, white clover, red columbine, jonquil, milk vetch, mourning bride, and peony all arranged together. Certainly not a fully comprehensive explanation of the feelings she held, but an attempt, nonetheless.

Her pulse raced as she resituated herself among the protruding crags, array of plants and flowers gripped tightly in her lap. It was an oversight, on her end, that she had never thought to communicate herself to him in this way before.

Realistically, she knew well that there was no possible chance of the reciprocation she so desired – Shimura had once shared with her that he solely kept the company of men. This did not offend her, but it did leave her jealous and uneasy, ever dreading the day he would inform her that he’d met the man of his deepest dreams. Even if he did not share her feelings, he would not be so cruel as to permanently send her away, for which she selfishly clung for the barest portion of hope.

What felt to be hours passed. Whenever she did travel out to the ocean, Midou was cautious to await Shimura in the same place at approximately the same time, when he would have completed any work from the day before and was unlikely to be busy. He partook in daily walks along the coast, naturally passing by the exact spot she consistently chose. Why, then, did she have yet to see him?

Midou finally rose from the ledge when the lower curve of the sun met the ocean, painting the sky in vibrant shades of red. Believing that she would only be momentarily absent, she nonetheless gripped the bouquet in her hand, consequently starting inland.

Spring had taken hold, the aroma of various blossoms and trees on the wind. Shimura had never informed her of his exact address. As she internally debated where to initiate her search, she glanced briefly back to the cliff. The smaller, sharper crags directly protruding from the water below seized her attention: the foam surrounding them was colored strangely, something she’d been too absorbed to notice before.

She knew from personal observation and from Shimura’s own description that there was a miniscule beach at the base of the cliffs. It was partially obscured by the shape of its rocky surroundings and by the craggy formations adjoining it - completely inaccessible by any sort of normal transportation. Thinking that she could eliminate at least one area in her quest, she nonetheless stepped again to the edge of the drop-off, taking a precursory glance.

Quickly, Midou discovered the origin of the odd seafoam: a waterlogged and disintegrating corpse.

She automatically judged the remains to be some sort of animal, quelling the brief jolt of terror that clutched her body. Just as promptly, it reignited – there was a face.

Her fingers numb, utterly detached from her body, mechanically went to shove her glasses flush to the bridge of her nose. She could not identify the body properly from her current vantage point, shoving her glasses up in a feeble attempt to increase her range of vision. The bouquet tumbled to the ground.

Midou’s eyes were set firmly in place, unable to move. Despite the apparent futility of her previous action, she found herself picking out the macabre features of the stranger’s face, fraction by fraction. A slightly hooked nose, broad. Tan skin grayed with decay. Cloudy brown eyes staring lifelessly into the sky. Plush lips. Raven hair with undertones of brown, strands long enough to begin clumping atop the forehead.

Most of all, the eyes: she knew them. The light was gone, but the warmth lingered.

There was what felt to be a door in her mind, creaking slowly back and forth. Cracks forming in spiderwebs along her consciousness. Her body was totally unresponsive. Her lungs ceased to draw breath without her knowledge. Her heartbeat skipped.

She found Shimura before the search for him even started. Her lips gradually parted, twitching and uncertain, as she tried to scream. All that left was a hoarse croak.

Midou’s hands clutched desperately at her chest, scrabbling at her throat to goad her lungs to draw in breath again. She choked on the harsh inhale, her eyes all but bugging out of her skull, glued grotesquely to Shimura’s corpse.

Finally, she screamed. She screamed until the insides of her throat were raw, neglecting to breathe more times than she cared to count. She collapsed fully to her knees, curling in on herself, sweat pouring down the tip of her nose and jaw. Her nails clawed grooves into the soft dirt, her body heaving, howling in agony. She had never felt anything close to this before, searing and debilitating and vicious and cruel and –

Ikko-ikki. Shimura was a Jodo Shinshu Buddhist. Not vocally enough for it to be significant, but it was there, nonetheless. She could not imagine him being driven to violence in any capacity, but she could not picture his corpse set on display in the ocean, either.

Without warning, Midou’s cries turned to sobs. They were dry, her body far too shocked to execute proper protocol. She practically crawled to the edge of the cliffs, hand extending uselessly for Shimura’s touch. The plants composing the arrangement were trampled underfoot.

She moaned ghastly, overcome with cold sweat and horror. She was hyperventilating but hardly noticed.

Almost in an absence of thought, she swiped the intermixed flowers and plants. Carelessly, she scattered them in the general direction of her friend’s body, not bothering to watch as they drifted down to hit the water. Every extremity was trembling violently.

Her voice was shattered, shot, incomprehensible.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Suguru, I’m so sorry. Please. Please. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t know what she was begging for, who she was begging _to_. She dragged herself to the precipice. Mindless.

Without a second thought, she toppled over the ledge. The wind roared maddeningly in her ears before her body was crushed over the waves. When the water infiltrated her clothes, she made no effort to struggle against its pull, allowing herself to be dragged beneath the surface. She was not to breach again.

Midou was not to share Shimura’s grave, but she was to be laid to rest in the same cemetery.

**Author's Note:**

> i researched neither the english renaissance nor the azuchi-momoyama period in preparation for this fic, making use of what was already available to me. i am certain that i have portrayed aspects of life during this time incorrectly, which is why i did my best to make situational happenings as ambiguous as possible. if there are any glaring errors please feel free to notify me, but just know that, at this point, i am only writing for a good time :)
> 
> flower symbolism: sweet alyssum ( worth beyond beauty ), arborvitae ( unchanging friendship, 'live for me' ), yellow acacia ( secret love ), deep red carnation ( love-struck heart ), cedar leaf ( 'i live for thee' ), white clover ( 'think of me' ), red columbine ( feelings of anxiety ), jonquil ( 'i desire a return of affection' ), milk vetch ( 'your presence softens my pains' ), mourning bride ( unfortunate attachment, 'i have lost all' ), peony ( shame, bashfulness )
> 
> happy new year ( and a late birthday ) lev, my enby friend. thank you for allowing me to indulge my weird hamlet scratch with your gift. you're delightful :)


End file.
